“You hear, Fornerol,” said M. Bergeret, “‘_Qui latronem exaudisti_---- Thou, who didst pardon the thief, and absolve the adulteress, hast given hope to me also.’ No doubt the recital of such words to a large assembly of people is not without its impressive side, and the praise is due to those untutored and gentle visionaries of the Abruzzi, those humble servants of the poor, those amiable enthusiasts who renounced riches in order to escape from the hatred and ill-will that they engender. They were bad economists, these companions of St. Francis; M. Méline would show his contempt for them, if by any chance he ever heard them spoken about.” “Ah,” said the doctor, “the companions of St. Francis were able to look ahead and to see of what material an assembly such as this of to-day would be composed.” “I believe the _Dies Iræ_ was written during the thirteenth century in a Franciscan convent,” replied M. Bergeret. “I must consult my friend, Commander Aspertini, on the subject.” In the meanwhile the burial service was drawing to a close. While they followed the hearse that bore the magistrate’s remains to the cemetery, M. Mazure, Dr. Fornerol, and M. Bergeret continued their conversation. As they were passing the house of Queen Marguerite, M. Mazure remarked: “The agreement is signed. M. de Terremondre is owner of the ancient dwelling of Philippe Tricouillard, and intends to house his collection there, in the secret hope of selling it at a tremendous price some day to the town, whose benefactor he will thus become. By the way, Terremondre has made up his mind; he is going to offer himself as progressive republican candidate for Seuilly, but every one knows in what direction his progress will tend. He is a turncoat from the Royalists.” “Hasn’t he got the Government behind him?” asked M. Bergeret. “He is supported by the _préfet_, and opposed by the _sous-préfet_,” replied M. Mazure. “The _sous-préfet_ of Seuilly is led by the President of the Council, and Worms-Clavelin, the _préfet_, acts upon the instructions of the Minister of the Interior.” “Do you see that shop?” asked the doctor. “The dyer’s and cleaner’s shop that belongs to the widow Leborgne?” said M. Mazure. “Yes,” replied Dr. Fornerol. “Her husband died six weeks ago in the most extraordinary way. He literally died of fright and nervous shock at sight of a dog which he believed to be mad, and which was as healthy as I am myself.” At the thought of death M. Mazure, who was a freethinker, felt a sudden longing come over him to possess an immortal soul. “I do not believe a word of what is taught by the different churches that share in the spiritual guidance of the people,” he said. “I know, none better, how dogma is formed, transformed, and elaborated. But why should we not possess a thinking principle, and why should not that principle survive the association of organic elements that we call life?”